


bon appétit

by thir13enth



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, a commission for soulty!, grocery shopping and bickering, thank you for letting me write this fun piece!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: have your cake and eat it too.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	bon appétit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soultyghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultyghost/gifts).



> a commission for **soulty**! hope you enjoy it as much as i had fun writing it!!! this story came out so naturally!

After just a few more moments of mental debate, Ingrid reaches her hand forward for what she has finally determined to be the most deliciously plump apple — the red juicy one just off the left-hand edge of the bin.

_“No, not that one!_ ” a voice warns in her head.

Her eyebrows immediately furrow at the sound of it, her hand clenching into a fist as she withdraws her hand back into crossed arms.

_“Claude,”_ she sighs. “ _What did I tell you about staying out of my thoughts?”_

_“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself,”_ he replies. She can almost imagine his teasing smile. “ _You were going for the wrong apple. I just_ had _to warn you.”_

_“And how would you have_ known _I was going for the wrong apple_ unless _you were lurking in my thoughts?”_ She feels her teeth involuntarily snarl as she thinks this.

_“Okay, I’m sorry,”_ he sheepishly apologizes. “ _I was just making sure everything was all good at there in the grocery store since you were saying you don’t really know your way around food.”_

Her anger mollifies. Well, he _is_ right about that. _Yeah, I know. I’m sorry._ She frowns, sighing. “ _I wish I could actually cook for you instead of you always cooking. But you know, it’s just because—"_

_“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you were basically raised as athlete all your life so all you had to do was train and eat mountains of food,”_ he finishes her thought for her. “ _But so what if you don’t know a thing about cooking? That’s why you get me so I can do it for you._ ”

Ingrid feels a heartwarming blush rise over her cheeks. “ _Well. That’s not what I was going to say but—_ "

_“But get the green ones, will you?”_ he interrupts. “ _Those are much better to cook with.”_

She looks over at the bin of green apples, all the same shade, then back at the red ones, with varied streaks of red, pink, and yellow. _“But the red ones look_ so _much prettier,”_ she laments with a frown, before her tone turns back around to scold him. “ _And stop interrupting me!”_

“Technically _, I’m not interrupting you because you’ve already thought what you’re going to say and I’m already_ in _your thoughts,”_ Claude refutes, then returning to the apple conversation. “ _And yes, but the red ones don’t hold as well when they’re cooked, and I’m trying to make a pie.”_

_“Pie? That’s not nutritious at all. For_ either _of us.”_ She recalls quickly how last week Claude had determined that he had to cut sugar from his diet. _“And again, get out of my brain!”_

_“Okay, okay, I will!”_ he promises her. _“And sure, pie isn’t healthy for us per se, but it’s is tasty_ and _it’s our anniversary, so I really wanted to make this recipe for us,”_ he explains. _“Plus you can’t say no to an old recipe I learned from my mom. I saved it for_ just _this occasion.”_

Her heart flutters at the sound of that. Or at least it feels that way — she knows better than to extend metaphors from romance novels in her real life. Somehow though, ever since she met Claude, she’s starting to actually think love isn’t all that cheesy and naïve after all.

Ugh, he’s made her a sappy puddle, and she can’t think of another time in her life she was happier.

If Claude has been listening in on any of those thoughts, he doesn’t comment on it.

_“Alright, then_ ,” she agrees, focusing back on the task at hand. She goes forth to choose some green apples, ensuring the skin is smooth and that the flesh is supple. As little as she knows about cooking, she likes to think she at least as a talent for picking out the ripest produce.

_“By the way, dinner will be something extra special tonight_ ,” Claude tells her. “ _And I’m getting it ready right now as we speak! And don’t you_ dare _look into_ my _thoughts! You’ll spoil the surprise!”_

She rolls her eyes. _“Huh, that’s rich, coming from_ you _, who was just peeping into_ my _thoughts!”_

Nevertheless, Ingrid smiles, wondering what he could possibly be setting up. What will his crafty mind think of now? Claude has the knack of cooking up the greatest schemes, which includes incredibly delightful dinner plans. He also seems to know exactly what she likes — even without reading her mind.

And that’s the other thing. He’s always had an inexplicably special connection with her. Telepathy came as a surprise to both of them, really. She doesn’t really remember when he started being able to listen in to her thoughts as well, but with how perceptive Claude is, she was never surprised just at how quickly he caught onto the skill to do so.

Although now, at times like this in the grocery store, his tendency to lurk in her mind can sometimes be quite annoying. She, at least, is good about not prying into his mind and invading his mental space.

Then again, whenever she has in the past, he was never thinking of anything entertaining. A thought or two about cats, and maybe a sudden memory of his friends from back at the Officers’ Academy — but nothing truly invigorating. Ingrid honestly prefers her own thoughts.

After tying a knot into the bag of her picked apples, she unfolds the paper in her pocket, reading off the next item on the list: lemon juice.

Lemon juice — that’s easy to locate. She always saw containers of lemon juice right under the lemons, so as long as she found lemons, she’d find the lemon juice. Simple. And — there!

Upon locating the lemons, she swiftly makes her way to the produce, thinking to herself

She always saw that right under lemons, so as long as she found the lemons — there! She walks over there, thinking about how fortunately empty the store is. Then again, it’s late, and generally, people don’t visit their grocery store past eight in the evening.

Regardless, she wouldn’t dare to step out here anyway when there’s too many people to interact with. And besides, the daytime always seemed to be too hot and sunny for her taste anyway.

She gets to the lemons, bending down, grabbing the sphere-shaped bottle of lemon juice.

_“Wait! What are you doing?!”_

“Cla—” Ingrid stops herself from yelling out loud, immediately covering her mouth. “ _What are_ you _doing?”_ she snaps back at him. “ _I thought I told you to stay out of my head! And look what you made me do? You almost made me yell out in the middle of the grocery store — good thing it’s late in the evening when not as many people are out shopping!”_

_“Well, it’s_ you _that has the temper.”_

_“Don’t start with me about my temper when_ you’re _the one provoking it!”_ Ingrid feels a growl at the back of her throat. “ _And besides,_ now _what’s wrong? There’s only one kind of lemon juice and I_ know _the green one is not lemon but lime so don’t just say that to try to trick me.”_

_“No, no, I’m just wondering why don’t you just get a lemon? So that you can get fresh lemon juice!”_

She looks again at the note in her hand. “ _Okay, but you_ clearly _wrote lemon juice here. Why didn’t you just write lemon instead of lemon juice if you wanted that? It’s the same!”_

_“No, it definitely isn’t.”_

_“And if you wanted fresh lemon juice, you should have specified that.”_

_“Well, I thought that someone as clever as_ you _could have figured out that fresh lemons make_ better _lemon juice than whatever is in those bottles.”_

_“Well, I was under the impression that someone as knowledgeable as_ you _could have anticipated that someone that doesn’t know anything about cooking might have appreciated_ clearer _instructions!”_

_“And that’s exactly why I’m here with you right now to guide you through the grocery shopping!”_ he retorts then. _“Because I was sure you were going to run into problems anyway!”_

_“Claude!”_ Feeling her anger rise in her chest, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, mollifying herself. She’s just going to let this go — the longer this goes on, the hungrier she gets, and then the _hangrier_ she gets, and her being stressed and pissed doesn’t help either of them when she’s out and about trying to gather the last of what they need. _“Okay, I’m letting this go, Claude,”_ she tells him. _“But dinner better be good for all this trouble you’ve put me through.”_

_“Of course, love. Can’t wait for you to see what I have in store for you,”_ he affirms.

Content, she smiles then, adding two lemons — for the _fresh_ juice, as Claude wanted — into her grocery bag before perusing the shopping list once more. She mentally checks off each of the items she’s already acquired, and on finding that the damned lemon juice was the last of it, she quickly scoots over to the front of the store to pay at the cash register.

She’s glad the cashier is too tired to even try to engage in any kind of conversation with her. She feels her stomach grumble as she inserts her credit card into the chip reader.

“Thanks,” she manages when the cashier passes her groceries back, a sharp hunger pang hitting her.

Just in time for dinner, she supposes.

The house is dark when she unlocks the front door.

“Claude?” she calls out, furrowing her eyebrows. She sniffs the air, confused at the smell of lavender rather than flour and butter. Slowly, she closes the door behind her, letting her eyes adapt to the lack of light. She can’t imagine why all the lights are off — unless _this_ is the surprise Claude has for her.

As she steps further into the entrance hallway, she spots light slipping through from under the bedroom door. Her heart pounds and she feels a smile stretch over her lips as she walks faster towards the bedroom, pulling off her shoes and putting down her groceries on the floor — unable to be patient any longer. She turns the knob and opens the door slowly.

The wave of lavender wafts over her nose, and as her senses open up, her eyes readjust to the candlelight and strung lights around the room. Red and pink rose petals trailed all over the floor, leading to the bed in the center of the room where Claude is lying on his side, only the bed covers over his unclothed body.

He looks up at her, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. “Oh hey, Ingrid.”

She takes another a moment to relish the sight. “Dinner in bed?” she asks.

“Indeed,” he says, patting the mattress next to him to invite her in.

“You look _delicious_ ,” she tells him, making her way steadily to him.

“Don’t I always?” he teases, winking at her.

She grins, climbing onto bed and sweeping away the blanket over his body, the roses scattered over his skin. She growls in approval as the petals fall off him, then lying her body against him and cuddling into his warmth. She lifts her head to receive a long kiss from him.

“Bon appétit,” he says, turning his head into the pillow and exposing his neck to her.

She pulls herself closer, making herself comfortable before she purrs into the crook of his neck, inhaling his sweet smell. She kisses him, parting her lips and letting her teeth tickle his skin.

“No appetizer?” he asks, as her teeth grow sharp.

She chuckles. “I’m going straight to the main course,” she tells him, biting down.

**Author's Note:**

> find me tangled in the interweb: [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/napsbeforesleep)


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